Tuesday, November 29, 2005

I'm not sure what I am

People were wondering where I was yesterday--I missed English 600, which is a fun class only because some of my favorite people are there. I explained my doctor's appointment. I only told LadyJane why the doctor's appointment. She was surprised--I don't strike her as being someone dealing with problems.

I don't feel that I have many problems. My biggest "problem" is that I can't be happy, that I don't know how. There's always an undercurrent of sadness and lately I've been drowning in it.

This is so trite and cliche to write. But it's where I am. Does that "but" effectively negate all my ineffective comments? Probably not.

I was going to write about my crusade to save the personal essay in 115 (okay, really only righteous indignation, but I can escalate it). But I don't care anymore. I don't want to care.

"I always care. I don't always know."

This is what it is to be broken.


Kristen said...

maybe love is watching someone live

Thirdmango said...

I know how you've felt lately, maybe some cool movies and music I have might cheer you up a little.

erin said...

A lot of people don't seem like the type of people who deal with problems. Some of us are better at hiding them than others.

Tolkien Boy said...

I really hope that you save the personal essay someday. Lord knows it needs it.

Saule Cogneur said...

I know a little about how you feel. The think I’m always angry, not in the way people might think though. It doesn’t make much sense but is the way I am nonetheless. I used to wonder if it was insecurity or some kind of Napoleon complex, but now I know that’s not the case. Right now I think it may be that I somehow know there’s still a part of me missing (think The Missing Piece). I don’t know what it is; I just know it’s not present.

It's equally possible that you're burnt out.

Joe said...

What evildoer breathes out threatenings against the personal essay? I shall join your crusade to defend all that is good in English 115. You can be Commander Contrariety and I will be Comrade Don't-Write-About-Prom. We will wear ski masks, bandanas, and take our rosewood pipes out of our mouths when we speak to the media. Thousands will be drawn to the urgency of our cause. The oligarchy will crumble.

Also, I took a buttload of prozac once, and it kind of sucked. But I had to smile. I mean, I just had to. Smile.


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